Category: The Cuffs

is a blind house. [note to self ] Therearethese /// slats of grass /// where calves shruggle to nose it. I nose it too but only, only as drags my lookout up the drive. Homeswhere I have some hard salami & string cheese, pleased to be so settled & groan: done in original French, then frozen so later can later …

The sheer before We buy the bell and beat it We beat the bell and it gets smaller We raise money for one bell, a small bell. We raise cows and usher them across the road. We know nothing of their fullest potential, their ringing and ringing and —

I’m snug as a bug in a Barthes book and you have stolen my hole collection You put them with my mouth guard, pictures of giraffes balanced, a dry air bear, cottage cheese, the chewer and of course the chewy

Is a picture of orange tree, picture rough leaves, droplets’ sent-up light, plots, oranges evening falls on. The mountains. This hustler in shorts. Regardless, burning in the middle of the tree, up, in its way a system look, one jigging the tine the thing stem unready, a moth The wolf to you a blunt cusp …

Heart perched on ice water. It a purpose parting the tips of ice awry, entire end of one country in window flips light on the water. Night is on up ,the paper and pins. to the very very / lit lamps. while sea spreads like a document. At night, at night on the governor.

It’s the great tragedy – just great. Days rolled into little balls with small lights inside them. He says: My first kiss felt like an ave maria. I call anything that has happened ‘once.’ & we ditty ditty ditty do we do do do *** Just look at us, headless as usual, sitting around a …

The Hackneyed Water Walkers Skim the Water Document. They are All Awn. Tinily. Like Psalms Said The Feelers First Sit, then Stand, Then Go Against It Synaptically. Fast. Lest They Be In or Nothing On It.

I’m doing dishes in my bra. This is half of a sign. You lean in the doorway, so I slowly undress. Your legs are lean and white on the kitchen tiles. You are weaving your fingers, which are numerous, into this, which is not a sign. Which is lugged on the stove like a grocery …

I have a crow. A dumb one all the sudden likes to talk. Love like it’s dinner he says. Black snow is impossible so don’t even try it. Squawk, squawk. The bird is a small version of my ex-husband one who held me like an overcoat, spouting ‘adorable! adorable!’ I remember the water all over …

When you make pork loins, you are cooking. It is the unclassifiable pork loin of you. I eat the animal you are and the animal slain, your reflection in my spoon. I eat as an affront—I’m starving. I’m fasting everything outside this room. There’s you, your miraculous pork loins, and nothing.

I have your head to think about, your hairy legs—when I open those Your job, too. It opens at your belly, oxford shirt; your skin The snow goes off nothing even walking the white line home, drunk or enormous, the railway station we make out of the projects, and dogs between the trees. Going with you …

I am engulfed. I succumb. I am dissolved, not dismembered; I fall, I flow, I melt. It is a gentle abyss, and the lover is absolved of any responsibility for the act. There is no longer any place for me anywhere, not even in death. It is an excessive happiness which enables me to unite …